Meeting At The Mailboxes
by StarkBlack
Summary: Nami is interested in the sexy tenant that lives directly below her. Commission for Mishagirl/Allbluechaser.


Commission for Mishagirl or Allbluechaser. This is her gift to Dixxy. Prompt was "Sanji/Nami. No smut but up to R rating is fine." Unbelievably, I didn't get to that R rating. I don't know, it just sort of came out that way. I like it though, it was fun to write.

Thank you Misha for your donation. And thank you for your patience.

* * *

 **Meeting At The Mailboxes**

The alarm went off at six thirty, the same as it had done every weekday for the last few months. Third Eye Blind's _How's It Going To Be_ played through the speakers, punctuating a sleepy headspace with memories of awkward school dances and roller-skating on cracked cement.

Manicured fingernails reached for the button to silence Stephan Jenkins mid chorus, and then tucked a lock of long, red hair behind an ear. Brown eyes opened and watched the early morning clouds slowly make their way across the sky.

There was a shuffle and two small paws started kneading the blankets. A soft purr broke the silence left in the absence of music.

Nami smiled into the pillow. "Good morning, Bandit."

The cat deserted his kneading and moved to press his nose underneath Nami's jaw.

"Oh, affectionate aren't we?" she chuckled, "I'm assuming this means you're hungry."

She got another bop under her chin as an answer.

"All right, I'm getting up."

The big, black tomcat led her down the hallway and into the kitchen as if she had forgotten the way, and then sat beside his dish, waiting politely like the gentleman he was. Nami reached into the cupboard and grabbed a can of organic cat puree, chicken and liver flavor, and popped the tab.

As Bandit ate happily, Nami opened the refrigerator and groaned at the state of her shelves. They were bare besides last night's takeout, a jar of strawberry jam, and a jug of orange juice. She grabbed the juice and a glass from the drying rack.

"It's really sad that you eat so much better than I do," she murmured.

Bandit did not seem to be listening.

She ended up buying a coffee and cheese croissant on the way to the bus. As she picked at the pastry absently, she made a mental note—not for the first time—to learn how to cook. Fast food was becoming a constant in her life and there was only so much exercising she could make herself do.

"Hey Maureen," she waved to the receptionist as she passed through the lobby of her office building.

Maureen smiled brightly and buzzed her through. Nami carried a photo ID with a barcode on the back, but after a few weeks of coming into the building regularly, the ID had become a formality. After a month, it had become unnecessary. It wasn't as if the place held government secrets.

Her office was on the sixth floor, she had a corner window, and was separated from the rest of her colleagues by a sea of cubicles. It was nice, roomy, and quiet, perfect for her concentration. Data collection might not be the most thrilling of jobs according to some, but to Nami, this was paradise.

Besides, she was the best.

She was almost four hours into the day when a soft knock pulled Nami out of her zone.

"Come in," she said.

The door opened and a blonde head peered inside.

"Hey girl," Lucy, from down the hall smiled, "we're going out for drinks tonight. Want to come?"

Nami smiled back sweetly but shook her head. "No thanks, I'm meeting some friends tonight."

"Aw, too bad," Lucy pouted. "Next time!"

Nami nodded and waved as the girl left and closed the door. She hadn't _exactly_ lied, not really, if one were completely literal about it. Nami did have plans to meet with friends tonight. Netflix, pad thai from down the street, and her pink poofy slippers were all her friends. They got along great together.

She did not consider herself an introvert in any way, and she was not anti-social, but Nami did value her alone time. With her loving, but rambunctious family, and her supportive, but completely eccentric circle of friends, quiet time was time that she cherished. Who said there was something wrong with wanting to just sit back with a carton of orange sherbet and marathon an entire season of _Peaky Blinders_? No one, that's who.

Also, there was that other thing that made her want to get back home, but she had promised herself that she would not think about that during work. Too distracting.

Lunch was a doughnut from the breakroom, and another cup of coffee. She managed to snag a water bottle from the store room before heading back to her office, but she knew twelve ounces of fluid was not going to compensate for the hundreds of empty and unsatisfying calories she had dumped into her body since she woke up.

At four o'clock, she logged her time, grabbed her coat, waved to the few remaining people in the cubicles, and stepped into the elevator. Being a salaried worker, Nami could decide her own schedule, to an extent. As long as she clocked a certain amount of hours each week, her bosses didn't really care when she was physically in the office. Nami's agenda through the end of the week was relatively simple: log eight hours before getting home, change, go for a quick run, and then stop by the apartment's mailboxes right around quarter to six. If she made it to the bus by four-sixteen, she would make it with a few minutes to spare.

* * *

Her feet pounded the ground, her breath hard and heavy as she turned the last corner onto her street. The sweat on her brow and at the back of her neck felt cool in the evening breeze. Her heart beat in perfect rhythm with the cadence of her stride.

Nami was not really a runner, she actually detested all types of exercise, but she did have a realistic view on health and fitness. If she wanted to keep eating ice cream and drinking eight-thousand calorie lattes every day, she knew she had to do something to stay the heart attack. Running was simple, saved money, and worked both cardio and muscle endurance at the same time.

Plus, it gave her a chance to be a little flushed and shiny when she visited the mailboxes.

She slowed and did a few small paces back and forth to get her breathing under control before she pulled out her key and opened box 201. Local pamphlets, grocery store ads, a bill, nothing spectacular, but she stayed anyway, looking through everything slowly, meticulously. She waited, watching the parking lot out the corner of her eye.

Excitement thrummed in her chest when a steel gray, Chrysler 300 pulled in and turned into one of the covered parking spots. She felt the corners of her mouth turn up into a small smile as the door opened, and polished shoes lowered to the pavement.

She turned away, feigning interest over the bill in her hands. She could hear him moving around the car, taking a bag from the back seat, shutting the door. His steps were light, unhurried as they came her way. Absently, she lifted her hand and ran it over her messy braid. When she heard the jangle of keys, she glanced over and caught his ice-blue eyes looking at her hair. He was always looking at her hair.

"Hey," she said softly, as if she was surprised to be running into him again.

"Hey there," he replied.

His smile was killer, and his smoker's rasp was like audio porn. She didn't know his name, or how old he was, but she did know that he was the tenant in the apartment directly below her, and he kept a tight, predictable schedule. Punctuality was not something she had ever considered being on the list of things that attracted her, but apparently it was, and it was pretty high. Plus, he dressed well, and kept himself impeccably groomed.

She didn't know for sure what he did, but in the handful of times she had been close to him, he had smelled amazing. Not like cologne or body spay, no. Underneath a faint tobacco overtone, he had smelled like chocolate and spices and _citrus_.

"Finally getting a little warmer," he said quietly as he keyed the lock on his own mailbox.

Happy to make small talk, Nami nodded. "Yeah, it's nice."

She had been feeling him out for several weeks, observing him. Not that Nami adhered to stereotypes, especially when it came to outward appearance, but given his expensive looking suits, brand collared shirts, and shined shoes, Nami had at first dismissed him as someone vain or shallow. However, that smile had come so easy and seemed so genuine it was hard to believe that it was for show. Also, she had caught him helping the elderly tenants in the rooms on the first floor more than once. He was kind, attentive, and she was sure that was not for show either.

"Well, have a good night," she smiled at him one last time, and then turned on her heel. Hearing his soft "…night," at her back sent a pleasant tremor across her shoulders. His voice really was incredible, like hot coffee, or cocoa, rich and delectable.

She had no intentions to pursue him outright. It was not as if she needed a boyfriend, she was not lonely or unfulfilled in any way (besides in matters relating to food), so she was perfectly content with random flirting, showing up at various times throughout his day and planting seeds of interest where she wanted. She would wet his appetite, fuel his curiosity, and then slip back into her apartment, leaving herself mostly a mystery.

His eyes were on her the entire time she climbed the stairs, she was as sure of that as she was sure of her own name. When she reached the top however, and glanced over her shoulder, he was studying his mail intently.

Hiding her grin behind the ad for the produce stand down the street, she made her way towards her apartment.

He couldn't fool her, not with the blush that had spread across his cheeks.

* * *

"Nami?"

Looking up from her work, Nami swallowed the last bit of her chocolate chip cookie and wiped her mouth with her fingers. "Hey, April, what's up?"

April's dark curls bounced across her forehead and her ebony eyes flashed mischievously. "I know you don't really like going out, but tonight is Friday, and we are meeting a couple guys from downstairs. You should come."

Nami sighed internally, "downstairs" was the term the ladies in her office used for _Vibrant_ , a performance medicine company on the third floor of the building. The people that worked there had degrees in flexing and posturing, and basically nothing else.

"I don't know—"

"—Please," April cut her off, "don't say no. Janelle wants to go so bad, she hasn't been out since her surgery, but she's nervous to go if you're not there."

Nami's eyebrow rose in confusion. "Why me?"

Making a face, April put her hands on her hips and made a noise like Nami was an exasperating child.

"Because no one messes with you. If these guys turn out to be dicks, you can kick their asses."

A laugh escaped Nami's lips and she covered it with her palm. "Oh? I will, will I?"

April nodded, smug. It reminded Nami of her friend Usopp. Actually, a lot of things about April reminded her of Usopp.

Janelle was a petit woman, almost frail, too shy and too introverted for Nami's tastes, but she was sweet and genuinely kind when you got to know her. She deserved a bit of fun, and while Nami hated that this excursion was riding on whether or not she attended, her want to grant her coworker the opportunity to have some of that fun convinced her.

Of course, she wouldn't make the mailboxes that night, and that was disappointing.

* * *

She regretted the decision after a mere fifteen minutes.

After one beer, Janelle did not need any help with anything. She was the life of the party. She shouted to the bartender to keep them coming and sang songs that April and Lucy requested on the bar's phone app. The guys loved her.

Everything would have been fine, except that the guys liked Nami too.

It was not that they were unappealing in any way, and it was not as if they were rude or crass, quite the opposite. They were actually fun and interesting, sweet, some were even a little nerdy in the best way.

What bothered Nami was the fact that she felt like she was _taken_. It was stupid and unreasonable, but it was just where her mind and her heart was. She was _in the middle of something_. She was feeling out a potentially _amazing person_ and flirting with guys she barely knew while she drank maybe one too many orange ciders made her feel like she was _cheating_.

She left the bar after only an hour and a half. Her coworkers barely even noticed.

The bus was crowded, more so than when she took it home from work, which didn't make any sense because it was past rush hour. What did it matter though? She was a little drunk and she wanted to get home and see her cat.

The pavement did not sway under her feet, but she was a little wobbly as she stepped off the bus. Nami was known for drinking like a sailor but she had not partaken in a long time, and she had polished off what? Nine? Ten? She was not drunk, but she was definitely tipsy.

That was probably why when she saw the figure hunched over at the mailboxes, it took her a moment to process what was happening.

The man held a crowbar in his hands, and he was trying to pry open one of the boxes belonging to someone on the first floor.

"Hey!" Nami shouted, unthinking as rage boiled in her gut. "What the hell do you think you're doing!?"

The man turned to her, did a quick once over of her body, and then grinned.

"What're you gonna do, little lady, stop me?"

"Hell yeah I'm gonna stop you," Nami dropped her purse and satchel on the ground, and stooped to pick up the rake leaning against the side of the maintenance shed. "Been a while since I broke someone's face."

The man checked himself for a moment, seeming to rethinking the situation, but then he glanced over her body one more time and that terrible smile returned. He moved, crowbar in hand, coming straight for her.

Nami had always been underestimated because of her size, ever since she was a little girl. This would not be the first time someone would regret it.

She dodged the man's pathetic attempts at grabbing her easily and brought the handle of the rake in hard underneath his ribs. He made a pained noise, and the crowbar dropped to the ground.

Straightening, Nami rested the spokes of the rake by her feet and leaned against it lazily.

"Stupid…" she spat.

The blow to the back of her head was unexpected. Pain exploded at the base of her skull, and she saw stars behind her eyelids. The pavement was hard as it came up to meet her knee and the palms of her hands. Reality went in and out, colors swam in front of her, went black, and then came back again. Oh shit, she probably had a concussion.

"What the fuck, man?" a voice said above her.

"Shut up!" the first man growled, "She caught me by surprise!"

"Dude, she's like a buck ten."

Nami turned to sit, her knee throbbed and her head pounded as she looked up to find another large man staring down at her. She had miscalculated. She was screwed.

"Well, what do we do with her?" the first man asked.

The second looked her up and down, and his gaze was frightening.

"Let's get her in the car."

She tried to move away, shove at his hands. She tried to keep him from touching her. She felt dizzy, weak.

"Get… get away from me, asshole."

He laughed, and reached for her.

A streak came through the space above her head, so fast she almost missed it. Something hit the man in the center of his chest and he went flying. The force of whatever it was sent him hurling out from under the overhang and into the parking lot.

Nami smelled cigarettes, and onions. Garlic.

She turned, looking up just in time to see a man dressed in faded jeans and a blue sweatshirt step around her and move toward the thug that had been trying to break into the mailboxes.

It was the blond. It was the man that lived directly below her that met up with her "accidentally" four days out of the week. He was _here_ , he was _rescuing her_ , like a goddamn prince in some fairy tale.

A strong hand reached out and grabbed the stunned thief by the collar, the other hand plucked a cigarette from between pearl-white teeth. Smoke billowed in the shaking man's face and that low, sexy voice growled deep and menacing.

"Get lost."

The thief staggered back, off balance, but with enough wits to run into the parking lot, help his injured partner up, and get him into their car. The headlights were bright as they pulled out of the parking space and sped away.

Only when the car had disappeared around the corner, did the blond turn around. He dropped his cigarette on the ground and crushed it with the toe of his sneaker. Nami was still too stunned and too dizzy to react when he knelt in front of her and took her face in his hands.

"Hey," he said softly, "you all right?"

Nami squinted, trying to clear the fuzzy edges of her vision. "My head hurts, and I'm a little dizzy, but I've been drinking so it might be that."

His thumbs pressed into her jaw gently, guiding her head back.

"Eyes up, look at me."

She did, and her breath caught. He was even more handsome up close. He had such nice skin, and a spattering of light freckles. Those damn eyes were so blue.

"You probably have a concussion," he said. "We need to get you to the hospital. Can you stand?"

His voice was so soothing, so calm, it was nice. It made her think of home, and friends. He could have asked her to do anything at that moment and Nami was embarrassed to admit that she probably would have done it.

Except go to the hospital.

"Yeah, I can stand," she said, "but don't worry about the hospital. I sat in the emergency room a few months back for a gash on my knee and I was there for almost seven hours." He looked at her with the kind of eye you would expect to find from your mother.

"I mean it," she said, "They'll take a look at me and tell me to take an Ibuprofen and rest for a few days. I'd rather not have a three hundred dollar bill for something I can figure out myself."

His frown was as sexy as his smile. Nami decided she would muse on how that was possible another time.

"All right," he said, "but at least let me take you upstairs and put some ice on it."

"Okay, deal," she nodded.

He helped her up and grabbed her purse and satchel from the ground. She moved to take them from him, but he refused, offering her his arm instead. She took it. It turned out to be the right decision because stairs had become something she had forgotten how to do correctly.

She hoped it was the alcohol that was making everything wobbly and not her brain being turned to mush.

It was only after opening the door and him settling her on a soft couch did Nami realized that she was not in her apartment. She looked around, taking in the clean, organized space and simple, color coordinated furniture…

…and breathed in the most amazing smell _ever_.

"Oh my God, what is that?"

"Chicken," he smiled. Jesus, that smile.

"Do you buy your chicken in Shangri-La?" Nami made a face as he sat beside her, "That's not what chicken usually smells like."

He laughed softly, "It's just regular chicken with basil and garlic. May I?" he was motioning to the back of her head and Nami leaned forward with a nod. His fingers probed the tender section at the base of her skull and he made a noise in the back of his throat.

"It's not bleeding, but you're going to have an amazing lump. Here," he handed her a jell pack wrapped in a dish towel, "put that on there."

The ice felt good against her skin. There was a dull throbbing that had started as she had climbed the stairs, but the cold seemed to chase it away.

"Thank you," she said, "I don't really want to think about what would have happened if you hadn't shown up."

He leaned back against the cushions watching her carefully. With the absence of his usual sharp suit, his casual clothing made him seem younger, sweeter.

"So," his voice was quiet, "you watch one too many episodes of _Jessica Jones_ , or are you an actual superhero?"

Nami had to smile. "What does that mean?"

He shrugged. "That guy was twice your size, and you basically took him out with a stick. That was some side-of-the-mountain-under-the-waterfall-kenpo sh—uh… stuff."

Laughing hurt, so she tried not to do it, or at least tried to remember to remind herself not to do it again.

"My friends and I got into a lot of trouble when we were younger."

"Ah," he nodded and seemed to be trying to hide a grin behind his fingers, "yeah I can relate."

Nami leaned back and toed off her heels. She figured she wasn't going to be going anywhere for a while, so why not? Her feet hurt.

"Should we call the police?" she wasn't really asking, she was just thinking out loud.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," he said, "I wasn't thinking. I should have taken a picture of their license plate or something."

Closing her eyes for a moment, Nami brought up the image of green against white. She had only seen it for a moment, but that was usually enough for her.

"Washington BNF five, two, one." When she opened her eyes again he was staring at her shocked. "I have an eidetic memory, it's not that big of a deal."

"So…" he scratched at the dark stubble on his chin, "you _are_ a superhero."

Damn, she forgot to not laugh again, but at least this time her head didn't throb quite so painfully.

"Yes. By day I'm an ordinary photogrammetrist, by night, I stop evil henchmen from breaking into mailboxes."

"Wow, what's a photogrammetrist?"

Nami bit her tongue. On many occasions she had tried to explain the details of her job to people, relatives, dates, but none had seemed interested. In fact, they had seemed rather put out at having to listen to it. She might have been fanatical about topography and elevation, but no one else was. It was not a fun subject generally, and seeing the boredom and incomprehension on so many different faces, had disappointed her too many times, so she just kept her excitement to herself.

"Ah, it's just a fancy term for a mapmaker. It's nothing."

"Oh, like a cartographer?"

Her downcast eyes lifted to find him again. It did not seem like he was trying to indulge her, but then again, no one ever did at first.

"It's not quite the same," she explained, ready for the inevitable switch in attention. The moment when his interest would dull and again her passion would not be worth listening to.

"Cartographers and photogrammetrists both create maps, but where cartographers compute and map geographic information of earth's surface and specific land areas, photogrammetrists measure and map the surface of earth."

"Ah," he nodded, "cartographers make the maps that regular people use, but you make the maps that scientists would use. Like the ones that monitor positioning of Earth environments to track schools of fish or traveling orca pods."

Nami was speechless. No one had ever stunned her before, not like this. He actually understood what she was talking about? What she had said?

Never in a thousand years would she admit it, but at the moment, Nami's heart started to flutter.

"Um… yes. That's basically…" she sat forward, the warmth of a blush burning across her cheeks. "What's your name?"

He seemed surprised, almost embarrassed at her question. Suddenly, he was shy, self-conscious, nothing like the strong, capable man that had rescued her. However, he was no less of a man, this was still attractive, maybe even more so.

"I uh… I'm Sanji."

"I'm Nami," she answered, putting out her hand for him to shake.

He took it, but with reverence, like he would break her. After he had put his hands all over her earlier to check her injury and then basically carry her up the stairs, it seemed silly, but also sweet. It made Nami smile.

"So are you shy, or are you a knight in shining armor? I'm getting mixed signals."

Sanji relaxed somewhat at that, and the faintest touches of a grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. "A little of both, I guess."

Something in the kitchen dinged, and Sanji's head whipped around. "Oh, the chicken. Excuse me for just a second?"

Nami nodded and watched as he unfolded from the couch and stood. The words "tall drink of water" echoed in her head as she watched him move toward the kitchen. They had never made much sense to her until this moment.

"Oh," Sanji turned on his heel and cocked his head to the side, "since you're here, and I've taken on the responsibility of keeping you awake and alive for the next few hours, would you like something to eat?"

Nami breathed in the heavenly aroma and tried to hide the loud growling of her stomach.

"Oh my God, yes."

* * *

Coming home from work the next week was much more exciting than it had been previously. As Nami climbed the stairs, nearing her floor, she anticipated what would be waiting outside her door this time. On Monday, it had been a large, steel pot and something wrapped in tin foil. The pot held chickpea stew with spinach and chorizo; the tin foil had held a loaf of fluffy bread. Tuesday had been a pan of enchiladas. Wednesday had been seared duck with blood oranges and a tossed salad (that had quickly become Nami's favorite food of all time). Thursday had been spaghetti with meatballs with garlic and olive bread.

Sanji was a cook, he was a _damn fine_ cook, that was why he always smelled so good. He had fed her the night she had been attacked, and she must have complimented him too many times or moaned her appreciation once more than necessary. She might have also told him that she couldn't cook at all, and that her diet consisted of things she could buy on her way to work in the morning, plus takeout for dinner. She might have also told him that she loved oranges.

She had not planned to tell him all this, she had wanted to keep herself mostly a mystery. But he had made her so happy, listening to her ramblings of altitudes and data charts, and then by whipping up a completely mind-blowing sundae with chocolate and citrus shavings for dessert. He had asked her favorites, and she had just told him.

They no longer met accidentally at the mailboxes. He had changed his schedule so that by the time Nami got home, he had already prepared her dinner and left it on her doorstep. It wasn't the same dynamic she was used to, owing her health, and her life to a man she barely knew, but she justified it by reminding herself that there was a handsome man in the apartment below her that was basically her personal chef. And it wasn't like she was mooching, she hadn't even asked. It was all of his own free will. She decided to roll with it.

Tonight was Friday. Nami climbed the last of the stairs, anticipating another pot, or pan, or baking dish filled with something amazing, but stopped when she reached the top step.

In front of her door sat a small bouquet of yellow roses. A card was leaning against the stems.

She smiled, and made her way over. The roses smelled fresh and clean, and the card was a simple blue without anything on the front. Inside was one short sentence written in a crisp, neat hand.

 _I've made dinner again, but you have to come downstairs to eat it._

Her smile widened. She took the card and the flowers, turned around, and went back down the stairs.

There was no use trying to be a mystery anymore. Sanji had already figured her out.

END


End file.
